


Wands Gone Wild

by Veritas03



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Slash, wand humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritas03/pseuds/Veritas03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco’s wand is in rebellion and it’s all Harry’s fault. Of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wands Gone Wild

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** The magnificent Sevfan. You rock!
> 
>  **disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
**Wands Gone Wild**   


  


by Veritas03

 

Saturdays were for sleeping in. The idiot banging on Harry’s door was, evidently, unaware of this. Obviously, this person had not spent a grueling week in field training for the Auror program. If this person _had_ done, he or she certainly wouldn’t be up and about and pounding on Harry’s door at 8:17 on a Saturday morning.

He stumbled down the stairs, willing his eyes to stay open and hoping that whoever was so insistent about seeing him would not expect him to be coherent. He was just a few steps from the bottom when he heard that unmistakable voice.

“Potter!!”

Harry stopped, one foot hovering above the next step. Draco Malfoy was at his door. Why was Draco Malfoy at his door? He let his foot fall, but halted and yawned as he considered the question. Oh. Right. He had told Draco that he could come by anytime.

“POTTER!!!”

When the pounding resumed and the voice shrilled again, Harry descended a step further. Why had he told Draco Malfoy he could come by anytime? Harry stepped down into the hallway, crossed to the door and flung it open. Draco’s hand was up, ready to resume his attack on the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Obviously, Harry had taken him by surprise because Draco blinked his gorgeous grey eyes and pressed his perfect lips together before he huffed and lowered his fist. Irritation had left a very appealing flush on his pale skin. Oh... Right. Now Harry remembered why he’d told Draco Malfoy he could stop by anytime. Draco was hot.

“Hi,” Harry said. His sleep-fuzzled brain suggested to him that one did not normally grin stupidly at the person who had been assaulting one’s front door. His stern look was still asleep, however, so he just stepped aside and motioned for Draco to come in.

They stood in the hallway, just looking at one another for a few moments. Finally, Draco huffed again and said, “Well? Are you going to invite me in?”

Harry looked blearily from Draco to the door. And back to Draco again. “I already did,” he said. It was at this precise moment that Harry’s brain petulantly announced that, if it was expected to attain a level of functioning any higher than _doze_ , there had better be coffee involved. Soon.

Draco didn’t roll his eyes, though Harry was certain he just stopped himself from doing so. But his voice was tight with exasperation when he said, “And are we going to stand here in your foyer for the duration? Or are you going to invite me _into_ your home?”

“Oh. Sure,” Harry said, turning to walk down the hall, assuming Draco would follow. He made his way to the kitchen and went immediately to the coffee maker. Harry always prepared the coffee the night before, so he had only to push a button in the morning to start the brewing process. That done, he turned to lean back against the cabinet. It was only then that he realized that he was alone. “Draco?”

Silence answered him, and Harry began to wonder if he had dreamt Draco Malfoy coming to see him. It wouldn’t have been the first time he dreamt of Draco. He was just about to call out again – just in case – when a blond head peeked around the door. Draco peered into the room.

“Where’d you go?” Harry asked.

“To that place in my head that imagines you being raised in the wild. Some… feral boy,” Draco said.

Without the fortifying effects of coffee, Harry could not determine if he should feel insulted. The odds were for it, of course, considering the source. Though, strangely, Draco’s voice lacked the usual acerbic bite it had when he delivered one of his condescending little digs. And he still stood uncertainly in the doorway.

“Come on in and sit down, Draco.” Harry turned to the cupboard and looked for a couple of mugs. Behind him, he heard the sound of a chair being pulled out from the table. “Coffee will be ready in a minute,” Harry said over his shoulder. “How do you take it?”

“With enough cream and sugar to completely mask the taste,” Draco said. “I prefer tea.”

Harry just blinked at him. His brain was now doing its little impression of a vampire trying to block the sunlight, cringing away from the horrifying description of the crime Draco committed against coffee. “Maybe you’d better fix it yourself,” Harry said. With a thought, he sent the sugar bowl from its station on the counter to a space on the table just in front of Draco.

\-------OO-------

Draco stared at the sugar bowl that Harry had placed in front of him – wandlessly. _Wordlessly_. He was momentarily distracted by Harry’s arse when the soft-looking pajamas pulled snugly over it as he bent to retrieve the cream from the refrigerator. He managed to look away quickly – before Harry noticed, he hoped.

He could not allow himself to be distracted. There were things to be discussed, after all. Draco was not here to admire Harry and his delectable arse. Or his wild tangle of hair that begged for fingers to smooth it. Or the way his t-shirt rode up to expose a glimpse of his toned abdomen. And especially not the way his socks fit loosely upon his feet, looking as if Harry might trip on them any moment as he shuffled sleepily around the kitchen. Gah! The man was a mess! A sexy, adorable mess.

“Arrghh!”

Draco’s loud grumble of frustration caused Harry to jump, jolted out of his near-sleepwalking state. He spun around, wand in hand. Of course, he felt somewhat foolish when he realized there was no wild creature in his kitchen – just Draco Malfoy, sitting with his head bent forward over the table, hands tangled in his hair.

“Draco?” Harry moved toward the table, his brain informing him firmly that it was far too early in the morning for histrionics – and still no coffee! “Are you alright?”

Draco’s head snapped up. “No, I’m not!”

The force of Draco’s glare was too much for Harry to bear without caffeine. He reversed direction and returned to the coffee pot. His brain was now doing a little cheer in honor of the ‘Pause and Serve’ function. There wasn’t yet enough for a full cup, so Draco would just have to wait a few more minutes to adulterate his own cup of coffee. Harry leaned once more against the cabinet, inhaling the glorious aroma before taking his first sip. He closed his eyes to savor the magnificence that was his morning brew.

“Are you just going to stand there drinking your coffee?” Draco stood now, but leaned forward over the table, planting both hands atop it. “I’ve just told you that I’m not alright. I know you received my message earlier this week informing you of my dire need to talk with you.”

“Oh, yeah!” Harry latched on to this statement – Draco _had_ sent an owl a few days ago, asking to see him. “And I told you to stop by on Saturday.” Harry furrowed his brow in sleepy contemplation. “I didn’t know you’d be here so early.” Harry paused just before taking another sip. “And I don’t remember you saying it was dire.”

“Well it is!” Draco said. “This is a very serious matter, Potter. Look!”

Draco flicked his wand (somewhat over-dramatically in Harry’s opinion) and the air shimmered around him, dispelling a Disillusionment Charm. Harry choked on his coffee.

Draco Malfoy had wings.

When he recovered enough to take breath without coughing and gasping, Harry took a good look at Draco. He chose not to dwell on the smug, but still-irritated, expression and focus on the wings. They were gorgeous – brilliant white, with a kind of iridescence. They were large and imposing, and with his glare back in place Draco looked like an avenging angel. Of course, Harry had always pictured angels wearing flowing robes – probably because an angel wearing only black trousers and no shirt would be entirely too sexy. Harry had never seen Draco without a shirt. He had to take a quick sip of his coffee to insure his tongue wasn’t hanging out. His unhelpful brain was chanting ‘Lick! Lick!’

“Well?” Draco folded his arms across his chest. Harry was just staring at him and appeared to be biting the rim of his coffee cup. “Say something!”

Harry lowered his mug, daring to reveal his besotted smile. “Wow,” he said. “Cool wings.”

Draco moved around the table, stalking into Harry’s personal space. “ _Cool_? No, Potter. The wings are not cool. They’re _wings_. Wings that make me want to blast a hole in something. I’m not supposed to have wings, Potter! And this is all your fault!”

Harry didn’t immediately jump to defend himself, but instead took another long sip of his coffee. His gaze turned thoughtful, and he bit his bottom lip as he considered the accusation. “I don’t… that doesn’t seem likely. Why do you always think things are my fault?”

“Because they are! You are a constant pain in my arse and have been for years!” Draco knew he was being unreasonable, but Harry was supposed to have been shocked and concerned when he saw Draco’s wings. Though, the fact that he said they were cool and looked at them with such obvious admiration was gratifying in its own way…

“Oh, is that right?” Harry said. “When I spoke up for you at your trial, was I a pain in your arse then?” He took a self-congratulatory, ‘yeah, take that’ swig of his coffee.

“You’re going to be so crass as to throw that in my face?” Draco said, clearly appalled.

“You’re the one showing up at my house at the arse-crack of dawn, making wild accusations,” Harry said, feeling perhaps a _bit_ guilty for his comment about the trial. “How the hell is it my fault that you have wings?”

“You’ve done something to my wand!” Draco declared.

“What? Draco, I haven’t touched your wand.”

Draco just stared at Harry for a moment, arching an eyebrow. “I’m going to give you a few moments to ingest a bit more of that coffee and hope to Merlin that your precious caffeine can jar a certain memory in that substandard brain of yours.”

Harry’s brain took a moment to stick its tongue out at Draco. Of course he remembered using Draco’s wand – had remembered as soon as his last comment had left his mouth. He took a petulant swig of his coffee and then refilled his mug. He strode to the door, but turned and said tightly, “I believe I’ll have my coffee in the parlour. Would you care to join me?” Then he turned and left, not waiting for Draco to answer.

Draco followed him quickly this time, entering the room right after Harry. He did not join Harry on the sofa, or sit at all. Harry wondered briefly if the wings got in his way when he sat. Well, the fucker could just stand then. Stupid git! Coming in here and blaming Harry for his… wings. He sullenly sipped his coffee, and there was a heavy silence for several moments. Finally, Harry said, “I still don’t see why you think it’s my fault you have wings. And your wand seemed fine when I gave it back to you.”

That was true, Draco had to admit. His wand had seemed fine when Potter had first returned it to him, just weeks after the final battle. It had functioned perfectly all during the trials – an exceedingly trying time when Draco might have lost hope but for Harry’s supportive presence. His wand had continued to perform as expected in the months after, when the two young men had volunteered together to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. The trouble with his wand had only begun after he and Potter had gone their separate ways.

Harry had started Auror training and had very little spare time. Draco was busy with family matters. With his parents spending much of their time in France these days, Draco’s father had begun to turn more of the responsibilities for managing the estate over to him. Draco would have begun to do this anyway, but his parents’ decision to spend less time in England had hastened the need for it. As a result of their obligations, Harry and Draco hadn’t seen each other at all in almost three months.

“Come to think of it,” Harry said. “I don’t recall you having any problems with your wand during the trial. Or when we went back to help at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, but _you_ were there at those times,” Draco said.

Draco began to pace back and forth before Harry’s couch, clearly agitated. Harry’s brain protested a bit at the effort of trying to make sense of Draco’s words while, at the same time, appreciating the beauty of Draco in motion. With wings. Harry knew he was grinning again and that it would only irritate Draco further, but he couldn’t help it. The angel image was still in his head, but now it was being edged out by Harry’s Veela fantasy. He’d been too sleepy to remember it earlier. It was actually a recurring dream he had – Draco as a Veela, possessive and protective and totally hot for his mate. Of course, in the dream, Harry held that role.

“Are you even listening to me?” Draco was beyond irritated. He was trying to explain to Harry why he was at fault for the wings, and the man was just staring at him with a stupid grin on his face. “Drink up, Potter. Obviously, we’ll get nowhere until you’ve had more caffeine.”

“Um… sorry,” Harry said, and obediently took another sip. “I was trying to listen. But your wings are so… pretty. Can I touch them?”

“No!” Draco was shocked – and then a little turned on. Maybe more than a little. How often had he fantasized about Harry touching him? But these wings? No! That was just… wrong. “Oh don’t look so disappointed, Potter.”

“You know, I’ve had enough coffee now to realize that you keep calling me ‘Potter.’ I thought we were past that.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, _Harry_. Since you’ve had enough coffee to take note of that, do you think you can listen now so I won’t have to repeat myself a third time?”

Harry rolled his eyes in return. “Yes.”

“Very well. As I said before, things have become so desperate that I have consulted Mr. Ollivander.” This seemed to gain Harry’s attention. “He examined the wand,” Draco said, “but was unable to provide any real assistance. But he did seem to think it was possible that my wand has… formed an attachment to you.” Draco knew he was blushing furiously, but he continued. “You know – because you had been master of it at one time and wielded it in such momentous circumstances.”

Harry took another sip of his coffee – or tried, but found the mug empty. He huffed a bit and held out the mug. Instantly it was filled with steaming black coffee. Once more he took a moment to appreciate the fragrance of it, almost as if it was a necessary ritual before drinking. Draco waited impatiently – although, in truth, now that he’d told Harry of Ollivander’s theory, he was a little nervous about how Harry might react.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “I mean – okay – your wand is… misfiring or something. What makes you think it has anything at all to do with me?”

Draco took a deep breath, knowing that – if he’d been embarrassed before – things were about to get a lot more uncomfortable for him. “Well, it’s because of the _way_ it’s… malfunctioning.” He paused and risked a glance at Harry as he stalled. Harry’s brow was scrunched in confusion and he was gripping his coffee mug as if it was a lifeline to a reality that did not involve Draco Malfoy standing before him with wings. Draco took another deep breath and continued. “It was mostly just annoying at first. Things like… well, if I cast _Lumos_ , a brilliant light would burst forth that, within moments, would coalesce into the form of a phoenix.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, which Draco found gratifying. “And whenever I try to Summon something, I only receive… things related to you in some way.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. The caffeine had finally begun to kick in.

“Well, often it’s a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. They’ve always got some story about you – usually with a picture.”

“But the newspaper is full of other stuff, too. How do you know it’s got anything to do with me?”

Draco couldn’t bring himself to admit that it wasn’t usually the complete copy of the paper that came to him when he tried _Accio_. Rather, it was snippets of newspaper articles about Harry that Draco had cut from the _Prophet_ and saved. He decided to offer another example instead.

“Well, sometimes it’s the Snitch – the one we fought over in the last match we played at the Burrow.”

Harry grinned. “The one you beat me to. Figures you’d save that.”

“Well, it was the first time,” Draco said defensively.

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “I save stuff like that, too.” He tried not to grin too much – he was certain Draco would take offense if he did. But the pink tinge on Draco’s cheeks was absolutely enchanting (and didn’t Harry’s brain do some eye-rolling at that sappy notion). Harry was fighting hard to remain seated on the couch and not jump up and… well, jump Draco. “Anyway, that still doesn’t seem strictly related to me. You love Quidditch and that Snitch means something special to you, right?”

“Yes, but…” Draco _really_ didn’t want to divulge the next bit, but Harry wasn’t yet convinced. There was no help for it. “There’s something else.”

Draco’s reticence was intriguing. In truth, Harry didn’t at all mind the idea that Draco’s wand had ‘formed an attachment’ to him. He was eager to hear what other evidence Draco would present. “What?” Harry asked, wound tight with anticipation.

“Well, of course I didn’t realize you’d left this at the Manor until much later,” Draco lied, “but your Gryffindor t-shirt – ”

Harry almost spilled his coffee in excitement. “The one that says ‘I’m a Gryffindor – wanna see my big-arse sword’?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I suppose you must have forgotten it when you changed into your dress robes. You remember – just before my nineteenth birthday party,” Draco said.

Harry stood, finally awake and unable to sit still any longer. “So that’s where it is! I had no idea what had happened to it. It’s my favorite one, you know.”

Draco did know. It was faded and oh, so soft and Harry had worn it frequently. Draco had found it just after the party – about the time they’d last seen one another. He’d (very) briefly considered returning it to Harry, but kept it instead. And if he occasionally brought it out and held it close or slept with it? What was the harm?

“I had intended to return it, but I just haven’t seen you, lately,” Draco said. “Which, according to Mr. Ollivander, is the problem.”

Harry smiled. “Because your wand misses me.”

Draco blushed furiously. “Well, I suppose you could look at it that way.”

“I think I will,” Harry said. He walked over to Draco and took hold of his wrist, lifting his wand hand. Draco still held his wand and Harry looked closely at it. “Hi there, Draco’s wand.”

“What are you doing??” Draco was rocked to the core. Harry’s hand was warm where it grasped his wrist, and Draco was certain that his wand had… twitched at Harry’s greeting.

Harry lifted his gaze from Draco’s wand and smiled up at him. “Just saying hello,” Harry said softly.

Breathlessness, Draco discovered, made talking difficult. It took him a few moments to manage. “Potter! You don’t _talk_ to it. It’s a wand for fuck’s sake!”

Harry blushed a bit. “You don’t talk to your wand?”

“Do you talk to _your_ wand?” Draco returned.

Shrugging just a bit, Harry said, “Well, yeah. Sometimes. I mean, not whole conversations or anything.” Harry had, early in his life, developed the habit of talking to inanimate objects. Of course, he knew they couldn’t talk back, but since he had few human companions as a child, he had liked to imagine they were sentient. “And, anyway,” Harry added, somewhat defensively, “we live in a world where you can hold conversations with portraits, and mirrors give grooming advice, and books can be bad-tempered and vicious. I don’t think talking to my wand is that… odd.”

“Perhaps not,” Draco said quietly. Definitely not! Draco’s wand was warming in his hand, almost basking in Harry’s attention. He had almost been disinclined to believe Ollivander’s theory – but his wand did indeed seem to be responding to Harry’s presence. Draco suddenly thought of a thing or two _he’d_ like to say to his wand!

“So, is there anything else?” Harry asked. “I’m not saying I don’t believe all this, but I still don’t see how some faulty Summoning Charms end with me being responsible for you having wings.”

They still stood close, Harry still holding his wrist. His warm gaze seemed to sweep the wings, and Draco began to consider that it might not be such a bad thing to feel Harry stroking them. He shivered at the thought and started talking again. He spoke quickly, wanting to just get it all out, hoping his words made sense.

“Of course, there’s more. My wand has been malfunctioning with an increasing level of absurdly wild magic. Every potion I try to brew turns red, Harry – an unmistakable shade of Gryffindor red. I tried to cast a Cooling Charm the other day. Instead, I produced an ice sculpture in the shape of a lion.”

Harry laughed softly. “Maybe you’re just getting in touch with your inner-Gryffindor.”

Draco tried, unsuccessfully, to gently pull his wrist from Harry’s grip. He was looking anywhere but at Harry. His voice was almost a whisper. “Every item I try to Transfigure… everything turns into… glasses with round, dark frames.”

They were both perfectly still and quiet for several moments. Draco was still avoiding Harry’s gaze and trying to subtly pull his wrist away. Suddenly he felt a responding tug. Harry was again pulling Draco’s wand toward him – until it was right in front of his face. Now they looked at each other across the ten inches of hawthorn.

“Maybe it’s not just your wand that misses me,” Harry said quietly. And then he tilted his head and placed a soft kiss upon Draco’s wand.

Draco shuddered and his eyes darkened with desire. It made Harry feel brazen and he reached out and brushed his hand along the wings. Draco moaned and Harry’s brain waved a little white flag, surrendering control to another part of his anatomy.

Draco felt electrified. His wand was tingling in his hand – almost humming with power. When Harry had touched his wings, he felt the brush of those fingers along every inch of his flesh. Draco was right – Harry had done something to his wand. He had seduced it. How could it have resisted such a powerful force? Draco couldn’t.

Harry had half expected Draco to punch him or shove him away or something when he’d touched the wings. Instead, Draco threw his arms around Harry and took possession of his mouth. Draco’s lips were soft and warm – just the way Harry had always imagined. He moaned softly at the feel of those lips against his own. Finally, he released Draco’s wrist. He needed both hands now – one to slip around Draco’s waist, and the other to stroke his wings. Both flesh and feathers were soft and responsive. Draco gasped into Harry’s mouth, making the kiss feel desperate and divine.

Harry’s tongue was stroking his, hot and wet and tasting of coffee. Draco decided the flavor of Harry made the coffee quite palatable. One of Harry’s hands pressed against the small of his back, pressing Draco close to him. The other hand roamed, brushing and petting both skin and wings. Draco’s whole body ached with the desire to be closer to Harry. In desperation, he nibbled at Harry’s lips. Harry moaned and canted his hips forward, assuring Draco that the desire he felt was reciprocated. He felt a thrill at this discovery – one he might never have experienced if not for his rebellious wand and the ridiculous wings.

“Ow!” Harry brought a hand up to pat at his smarting lip. “You bit me!”

Draco ducked his head. “Sorry. I just remembered why I came to see you.”

“To bite me?” Harry was still rubbing his bottom lip.

“No! That was unintentional, and I said I was sorry!” Draco pushed Harry’s hand away and placed a very soft kiss on the abused lip. When he pulled back, Harry just stared at him a moment, then stuck his lip out a bit in a silent bid for another kiss. Unable to resist the pouty lip, Draco kissed it again. “Am I forgiven now?”

Harry sighed. “I suppose. What caused that anyway? I was quite enjoying myself, you know.”

Draco smiled. “I know. Me, too.” He moved back a bit, afraid that he might just give up on his mission and start kissing Harry again. But there was still the matter of his wings to be dealt with. “And, I’d like to get back to that – ”

“Soon,” Harry said.

“Yes, soon. But I really need to talk to you about the wings.”

“I like your wings,” Harry said, grinning again. “But I really don’t see what they have to do with me.”

Draco sighed. “To be honest, I don’t either. But after all the other things that occurred with my wand, there must be some connection to you.”

“How long have you had them?”

“Seven days,” Draco said. “I was going to Diagon Alley and I just wanted to get through the Leaky Cauldron without incident, so I tried to cast a Notice Me Not charm on myself.”

“You’re still having trouble?” Harry asked, concerned. Despite Draco’s exoneration, some in the Wizarding world had not been willing to forgive and forget.

Draco shook his head dismissively. “Just occasionally, but it’s to be expected.” Harry’s face was thunderous. “Don’t worry about it. Things are much better now.” On impulse he grabbed Harry’s hand and held it. “Anyway, I cast the charm and this,” Draco tilted his head at a wing, “was the result.”

“I’m going out on a limb here and assuming _Finite Incantatum_ didn’t work,” Harry said.

“Nothing has worked. In the other situations, I was able to use one of the old family wands to get by. None of them work very effectively. Mother’s is probably best, but she’s rarely in the country anymore. Then the wings appeared and no matter which other wand I’ve tried, the result is the same. The wings remain. I even contacted Mother and Father and they came home from France to help me. Father was the one who was finally able to Disillusion them – though it took several tries. Once they were at least hidden, I was able to seek out Ollivander, and he suggested I contact you.” Draco didn’t really know what else to say about the matter. He just gave a slight shrug and looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry let go of Draco’s hand and put on his Auror face. His brain had roused itself from its haze of lust and was eyeing the coffee cup again. Harry retrieved his mug and sipped his cooling coffee as he contemplated Draco’s situation.

“Something is causing your magic to go awry,” Harry said finally. “And the things you describe – especially the glasses – do seem to indicate a connection or something to me.” Harry moved close to Draco again, but didn’t attempt to touch him. “You’ve stated that these… odd results do not occur when you use other wands.” Harry looked down at Draco’s wand. He held his hand out toward it, but didn’t touch it. “And I can… feel it, you know. I can actually almost imagine I can hear it. Like it’s…”

“Purring?” Draco whispered.

Harry raised his gaze to meet Draco’s and nodded. “So, I think you’re right. But maybe you should test it. Try to… Transfigure something. See what happens now that I’m here with you.”

That made sense to Draco, so he raised his wand and looked about for something to Transfigure. He smirked a bit and reached for Harry’s mug. Harry made a momentary show of reluctance before allowing Draco to take the cup. After placing the cup on the side table, Draco cast the spell. Almost instantly, the cup became a pair of glasses that looked exactly like the ones Harry was wearing. Draco’s sigh of frustration had barely escaped him, when the glasses then became a teapot, fragrant steam wafting from the spout.

Draco grinned. “That’s it! That was the change I was attempting.” His eyes flew wide as realization dawned, and he looked at Harry in disbelief. “It worked.” He lifted his wand and looked at it. “It worked this time.” Draco walked back to Harry. “It must be because you’re here, right? And my wand is… content.”

Harry shrugged, completely distracted by Draco’s hopeful expression. Merlin, he was beautiful. “I guess,” he said. “Based on what Mr. Ollivander told you, that makes sense. He knows what he’s talking about when it comes to wands.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I guess he really does.”

Draco clutched his wand with both hands and held it against his chest like a long-lost pet that had been returned to him. Harry just stood, mesmerized by the soft smile that played on those lips he was eager to taste once more. But then, Draco looked up and his smile had been replaced by near-panic.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, reaching for Draco. He rubbed his hands up and down Draco’s bare arms, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“What’s going to happen when you’re not with me?” Draco said. “If my wand is… pining for you, is it going to start malfunctioning again?” Draco’s head dropped to his chest, and he heaved a defeated sigh.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He slipped his hand under Draco’s chin and raised his head up. He was smiling when Draco finally met his gaze. “That’s not a problem,” Harry said. “We’ll just have to make sure that your wand doesn’t have the chance to miss me again.”

“What do you mean?” Draco said in a small, soft voice.

Harry slipped his arms around Draco, drawing him into a hug. “I mean, I’m going to spend as much time with you as I can from now on. And your wand, of course.” Harry shrugged, just a hint of a lack of confidence showing. “That okay with you?”

Draco threw his arms once more about Harry’s neck and returned the embrace with enthusiasm. “More than okay,” he whispered.

They stood close for several moments before Harry’s hands began to stroke up and down Draco’s back. And then, he brushed Draco’s wings. The sensation went straight to Draco’s cock. He gasped and stepped back just slightly from Harry, though still within his arms.

“The wings,” Draco said. “We still have to get rid of the wings.”

Harry sighed. “Do we have to?” Harry asked wistfully. “Can’t you just… keep them for a while? I’ve always thought you would look brilliant with wings, and you _so_ do.”

Draco’s brow furrowed as he considered Harry’s comment. “What do you mean?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“You said you _always_ thought I’d look brilliant with wings,” Draco said. “What do you mean?”

“Oh.” Harry could feel his face redden. He hadn’t meant to confess to any fantasies so early in their… relationship (Harry’s brain supplied the word with a definite fist pump). But Draco’d had the balls to come to him and admit that his wand had a hard-on for Harry, so he supposed he owed it to Draco to be upfront about his wing kink. “Well, I just always thought – you know, with your blond hair and coloring and all – you always reminded me of a Veela. Well, not always,” Harry said. He could feel himself beginning to babble, but his brain was sitting back with its feet up, refusing to rescue him. “After fourth year, I guess. You know, after I met Fleur and found out about her being part Veela. I didn’t even know what a Veela was before that, of course. And everybody was like ‘Oh no! The Veela allure!’ and I was like ‘What? I don’t feel anything.’ But I just thought Veela sounded so interesting – all silvery blond, and glowy, and temperamental. And I thought ‘Wow – that sounds like Draco.’ And I thought you would look really hot as a Veela – all fierce and possessive and… you know… with wings…”

Draco was just standing there with his eyebrow arched sharply, and his arms now folded across his chest. He had allowed Harry to ramble on. “All silvery blond, and glowy, and… temperamental?” The eyebrow arched impossibly higher.

Harry looked embarrassed for just a few moments, then crossed his arms on his chest, mirroring Draco’s defensive stance. “You’re saying you aren’t temperamental?”

Draco had the good grace to blush. “Not at all,” he said, tossing his silvery blond hair. “Perhaps it was ‘glowy’ I took exception to. And, anyway, this Veela fantasy of yours – there had better not be any beaks involved.”

Harry quickly shook his head, nose scrunched in disgust. “No beaks. Just wings. And you.”

“Well…” Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I might be willing to indulge you on occasion.” He rolled his eyes at Harry’s immediate grin. “But – first, can we see if we can just get rid of them? I’ve had these things for seven days, Harry. They are not making me feel like a sexy Veela at the moment.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, pleased that Draco was open to future adventures with his Veela/mate fantasy. “What do you think we should do? Do you want to just try to remove them with your wand, now that it seems to be working?”

“I think I’d rather you try,” Draco said, handing his wand to Harry. “Or – I don’t know – do you think you should use your wand?”

“No, I think your instinct was right,” Harry said. “I think it needs to be done with your wand." Harry lifted it, smiling at the way if felt so familiar in his hand. “I think I’ve missed you, too,” he said to it – ignoring Draco’s eye-roll. Harry took the wand and moved around behind Draco. “Ready?”

“More than,” Draco assured him.

Harry lifted the hawthorn wand. Then, on impulse, he whispered to it. “Okay. You know what I need you to do.”

Draco heard Harry’s comment to his wand, but had no time to consider it. He felt Harry’s magic – blended with the feel of his own – sweep over him. And then he was lighter, restored, and knew that the wings were gone. He turned to hug Harry – and found him with a sad little smile on his face.

“Harry,” Draco said, drawing Harry into his arms. “I promise you can bring them back sometime.” He gave a slight roll of his eyes, but was smiling. “I’ll be your Veela.” Harry smiled then – and Draco just couldn’t resist having a bit of fun. “If…”

Harry’s smile faltered when he noted the calculating look on the face of the ultimate Slytherin in his arms. “Um… if?”

“If you will be so kind as to indulge a certain fantasy of _mine_ ,” Draco said.

“Involving?” Harry was feeling decidedly nervous by this point.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Draco assured him with little kisses along his jaw. “You’re going to look fantastic in a leather skirt and stockings.”

Harry’s knees gave out, but it was okay because Draco was holding him up. “Stockings??”

“And the stilettos will make your arse look fabulous.” For emphasis, Draco grabbed that particular bit of Harry’s anatomy with both hands and squeezed.

And, much to his brain’s mortification, Harry’s traitorous wand, er, cock gave a definite twitch.

The End.


End file.
